


Echoes

by Lostkid



Category: Markiplier (RPF), Video Blogging RPF, Who Killed Markiplier
Genre: Angst, Gen, Grief, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Who Killed Markiplier - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2019-01-17 11:02:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12364311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lostkid/pseuds/Lostkid
Summary: He hates the house. They both do. But they need to go back, for their friend's sake.





	Echoes

The house is empty now; it’s been that way for years. The only living thing that remains in its vicinity is the groundskeeper, and all he cares about is the garden. Employers come and go, after all. The building is _meant_ to just be a shell, a monument to the horrors that took place there years ago. The ones that no one wished to talk about.

It’s _meant_ to be empty.

A dark figure casually strides up to the door, allowing it to unlock itself and slightly creak open before him. To an onlooker, he might’ve looked ordinary, boring even. They’d never even think about the arguments happening in his head.

 

_We shouldn’t be here, you know that!_

_We need to find him…_

_He’s not here, no one is here, and it’s this goddamn house’s fault that we’re stuck!_

_No, it’s Mark’s fault! And I_ know _why you don’t want to go in. You don’t want to find them…_

_No one is inside!_

 

The man’s hand starts to tremble slightly as he pushes open the door, clenching it into a fist around his cane. He’s found that it actually has become quite useful since his body suffered so much trauma. Being shot and falling off a balcony puts a bit of a strain on one’s form, they've discovered. Not that that memory or the body belongs to them. 

 

_They’re here…_

_What?_

 

Snapping his head up, Dark suddenly faces the mirror in the house’s entrance. His grip on the cane slips but he catches it, wincing at the pain in his leg that flares up. He doesn’t want to look back up at the mirror; he doesn’t want to see _them_. His betrayed university friend, her fortune-telling partner, sitting on the reflected table, knees drawn up to their chest. They stare at him with empty eyes, but in this form, he does find it difficult to care.

“Don’t look at me like that,” He scoffs almost unwillingly, stretching a harsh smile, “I did you a favour.”

The person in the mirror doesn’t smile back or say a word. He notices the glass tremble slightly as they sigh, stand up and walk away. He feels a chill pass by him, and a pain in his head.

 

_You’re becoming more like him…_

_Celine…_

_They didn’t deserve that; and they don't deserve this fate!_

_It’s better than ours!_

_Is it?!_

 

The voices in his head keep arguing as he walks up the stairs, each creak coinciding with the sharp pain in his leg. He can hear the walls whispering, or…was that just the voices in his head? He can hear warnings, threats and accusations from those who hadn’t been in the house for years. 

Who he _thinks_ hadn’t been in the house for years. 

_“Ha, you’re one to talk about friends, you murderer!”_

The detective’s corpse hasn’t aged well. The yellowed skeleton is covered in a mound of dust, and he can see a few spider webs, stretching from his ribs to the banister post. He wrinkles his nose, not with disgust, but with contempt. The man had been dead set on accusing the Colonel, his _friend_ , of murder. He kicks the pile of bones as he passes it.

 

_Damien!_

_He deserves it…_

 

He stops before opening the door in front of him, unsure if he should continue. Celine’s room. He can still remember everything that happened, every painful second.

 

_We shouldn’t, it won’t-_

 

He falls back as the door swings open, tendrils of black smoke and lights reaching out, beckoning them, _dragging_ them back, back to his _laughter_ , his _thievery_ of _their_ -

Gasping, he kicks the door shut, a high pitched sound ringing in his ears. He can’t hear anything, even his thoughts; the voices, had gone quiet; shouting and screaming but without any sound. He tries to take a breath, before realising that he hasn’t needed to in years.

“Damiaaaan! Celineeee!” Dark blinks as he hears another voice; it isn’t one of his.

It helps ground him; he uses his cane to stand up, _knowing_ that the room is empty, that it holds none of the darkness that it used to. Still, nothing on Earth could push him to enter it. He follows the voice; still calling for him- no, for _them_. He knows who it is. He’s always knows who it is, ever since he left, all those years ago. But he still hopes he’s wrong.

"I know you're still joking! Hide and seek and all that! But the game can be over now, can't it? It's....it's been so _long.._."

He turns, and follows the voice until he finds his friend, wandering aimlessly about, limping and calling for his friends. He furrows his brows at the man’s bright clothes, contrasting so strongly against his obvious brokenness. Dark wonders if he has been doing this every day since they left.

“William…” he greets in a low voice, hoping that his guilt isn’t obvious. He’s always been charming, but he could never fool the Colonel. No matter what happened to him, how twisted or corrupted he became, he could never hurt William. 

He isn’t expecting the sudden hug, or the gun. He’d expected the heart-wrenching cry (of what? Anger? Sadness?) but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

“D-Damien…?” William gasps after letting go, voice shaking. He’s still pointing the gun at Dark, making him more worried for his friend than himself. He doesn’t know if bullets can hurt this form, but at this point he barely cares.

“You…I knew it!” He laughs, waving his gun at him, “I knew…I knew you were okay, this whole time, you…I didn’t hurt you, I didn’t hurt anyone! What a…a good joke! You...you...”

Dark doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know if he can. He doesn’t know if this is a ghost, or if his friend truly has been alone in the house, perhaps with only the mirror to talk to, for years. He doesn’t know which option he prefers.

 

_I'm sorry..._

_I'm sorry..._

 

“I’ve…” he knows that both voices in his head are speaking now, placing his hand on the Colonel's shaking shoulder, “I’ve missed you too, old friend.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what I'm doing! But I just watched Who Killed Markiplier: The Final Chapter and I needed to write something! Damian, Celine and William didn't deserve that shit! Anyway as always please tell me about any typos and stuff (especially if i've accidentally used past-tense somewhere), I wrote this super quick and I'm really tired
> 
> Also I know Dark seems out of character but remember that WKM is an origin story, I'm personally setting this around the start of the 20th century cause that's what the videos' aesthetic suggests. In my mind, the modern Mark from ADWM is a different, innocent one (possibly reincarnated or grandchild? Idk), and Wilfred and Dark don't age.
> 
> Anyway thanks for reading!


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